Ok, forgive any formatting issues, I’m doing this from my phone (I can’t login to my WP dashboard).
This week has been great. Since my breakthrough in therapy everything in my life feels easier. Everything. From cutting out sugar to cutting out men. I suddenly have a place in my own world and I’m no longer chasing anything or anyone.
That said, I don’t think I’m “fixed,” or anything, I just feel righteous in the best of ways.
I have a Saturday night free this weekend. The Rich Golfer is out of town for a family event, Peter’s dad is in town, and The Vet may have a work thing. I’m cool with whatever, but regardless of men sharing my bed/time I’ll have a great night.
I would have said the same thing 6 months ago, but this time it feels a whole lot different. I dig it.
Ok, on with the boobs! This week I’m posting two old ones. Since I’m on my phone I’m unsure of the dates, but they were just a couple of lines above the one from last week in my WP photo library, so I’m guessing they were from May of 2012.
I’m posting the first one because it was me at a painful worst in my life. I can’t even remember the specifics of that particular self harming without the date (I’ve only done it twice), but it speaks volumes about how far I’ve come. My poor old soul… I feel badly for what I’ve done to her sometimes.
The second photo of me is one where I was feeling myself. The backlit silhouette, the curves. It was taken just a few days before the first pic (based on its location on the photo grid).
1) either submit a pic to me via email (firstname.lastname@example.org) OR
2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.
Also, just as a reminder:
If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)
Tell me why you chose the photo you sent
And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!
A little self never harm anybody… wait, what?
NOT my tits:
Before I forget again this week….Had a sudden hair dye reaction that was unpleasant and had me rushing to urgent care. Then even more unpleasant allergy testing. PSA to all the ladies in your group “do the damn patch test!!”
Anyway, just a lazy day pic
I wish to submit this binding picture as a way to show off/celebrate my great boobs.
I thought of this picture due to another person’s binding picture recently on your site.
The other night I had to write down who and when this week and I still had 6 left over in the sidebar with no time to give.
Nameless, most of them, as I probably am to them.
I had a dream about The Neighbor two nights ago. His giant, turgid cock was all mine. My hunt was over and he was going to be with me forever. I was going to feel his fuzzy, muscular body jam into mine and I was going to die of bliss.
It was all a fantasy, even in the dream. He slipped through my fingers when he realized I was still in love with him. I denied it, but had no proof. “But look!” I’d shouted into space. “Look at all the other men I’m fucking!”
I blinked in the sunlight that streamed through my windows and stretched like the cat who lay on my pillow purring like a crazed motorboat. He’ll be here soon, I thought, and as if on cue, I heard the front door open and close and the cat tore off to greet our visitor.
“Good morning, TN!” I called.
“Good morning, Hyacinth!” he called back.
I fixed my eyes on the doorway and let him fill my view as he sauntered in, sheet marks pressed into his skin and his eyes puffy, but his cock enormous and jutting out against his shiny black basketball shorts.
I giggled at the image of his exhaustion mingled with a giant erection.
He walked up to the side of the bed and pulled himself free of his shorts, his taut, pink skin a slightly curved appendage for my viewing pleasure.
I wrapped my hand around it. “Mmm,” I said and stood up. “I have to pee. I’ll be right back!”
When I came back out he pushed me roughly down onto the bed and licked his hand. “I doubt I needed to do this. Hmm, let’s see. Could Hyacinth be wet already?”
“It’s possible,” I answered looking up at him. “You wake up with that monster between your legs everyday. I happen to wake up wet everyday.” He pushed at my opening and sure enough he slid right in.
We moved together in the sunlight, carefully avoiding each other’s morning breath and hugged and humped and clutched and climaxed. He pinned my legs onto his shoulders and moved until I was begging him to stop and then with a puffy-eyed grin kept going.
We were done relatively quickly, it being the morning and all. He gently removed himself from me and lay beside me. “Hang on,” I said and rolled over and grabbed my phone, something I’d done alone for so long.
I began taking pictures of us freshly post-coital. It felt intimate and odd, like a salty candy that gives you two flavors at once.
He left shortly after to go to work and I smiled, stupidly happy.
And then I realized how uncomfortable I am with happiness and how I am doing my best to destroy what little peace I’ve finally managed to accomplish with him: I suggested that he fuck other women.
The night I came up with this grand plan I had just met his parents. Over the course of roughly 4 and a half hours I’d had a glass of white wine while getting dressed, a glass of Prosecco before dinner, and a glass of Rosé with my scallops, but when I’d suggested it to him he seriously wondered if I were drunk.
“I trust you, TN, I really do. And I’m proud of you and I think you’re amazing in bed. I want you to be able to go out and have fun.”
He just looked at me, dumbfounded as I blithely continued. “No, really. I’m so happy with you, I want you to be happy, too.”
“Ok…” he said, incredulous. “But why the change of heart? You’ve never felt this way before.”
“It’s because you told me you loved me and I feel safe with you, content. I really feel like I could handle it.”
I’d dozed off then on his warm, furry chest and forgotten all about it. But he hadn’t.
The following day he brought it up again. “So, what you said the other night. Do you still mean it? Or were you just drunk?”
It all came rushing back to me: the warm glow of acceptance, the sense of safety, this ridiculous drive to prove I were invincibly in love with him. What.the.fuck. But I was too embarrassed to back out. “No, really, I do,” I replied and then began that weird dance that people in open relationships do wherein they try to think of every possible thing they can’t handle: no two dates with the same woman, no threesomes without me, no lies, everything has to be transparent to me. Then, of course I asked if he’d care if I slept around.
He was thoughtful, then said he’d be ok with me and another couple, but not with another man. I told him I couldn’t imagine fucking another man anyway, I already had my unicorn firmly in my grasp. He’d smiled at that and then I felt a twinge of something, like a tiny splinter: why would he want to fuck another woman? aren’t I good enough? the best? And that’s when I knew I was full of shit and actively trying to sabotage my own happiness.
The next night, after the sweet, yet brief morning love session, I came to him with hat in hand, sheepish and utterly embarrassed. “You’re right, TN. I can’t handle it. I think I’m just really uncomfortable with how happy I am. I mean, look, we’ve only been this kind of happy for 3 months and I’m already looking to inject it with chaos.”
He pulled me into his nook and stroked my arm. “I thought so,” he said. “Besides, I’m not a player. I’m really not that interested in opening this up.”
I’m almost 40 years old and this is a humiliating moment for me. I left a marriage that was safe, yet passionless, and embarked on a wild year or two of no safety whatsoever, but chocked full of passion. I manage to cultivate a passionate — and safe — relationship and the first thing I try to do is dismantle it.
After everything we’ve been through — 4 am girl, my secret sex blog, his resistance, my anger — we’ve made it. He wants me and my entire life and I am inexplicably uncomfortable with his unconditional regard despite my longing for just this very thing. I am a stupid bastard.
So for now we have agreed to just be happy with each other and I’ve vowed to immerse myself in this new sensation called happiness. It’s strange and terrifying, but I happen to like salty candy so I’m going to keep chewing.
I pressed myself against his bare back and reached my arm around to find his stiff cock resting on the mattress. We’d been cuddling for a while and our new configuration had interrupted my stroking. I sighed into his back and kissed his shoulder, squeezed the hot thing in my hand. He picked up his stream of consciousness and I closed my eyes with a smile as I breathed him in and indulged completely my joy of curling around him while sunk deeply into my mattress.
My hand, wrapped around his hotness, lazily moved the length of him and I felt a familiar draw between my legs. I was surprised; I thought for sure the pounding headache I’d endured all day had surely killed any kind of libido, but no… she was purring just below the surface. I decided to test it and thought out loud to us both.
“How long has it been since you masturbated?”
“Since Saturday or Sunday whenever I sent you that pic.”
“Mmm,” I replied remembering the glorious cock shot I’d received, all resplendent dark pink skin arched like a dolphin above the surface of his belly. “I remember now. Thanks for that.” I squeezed my hand again and pulled his shoulder toward me to reposition him on his back.
“I want to watch you cum tonight,” I said softly, firmly. The room was filled with light and an evening stillness, waiting.
He politely declined, but I persisted, perceiving the game. “It’s so hot when your hand is a blur, to watch you tense your big thighs,” I whispered.
I traced my hand over his meaty quadricep. “And to watch you shake a little. To see your arm flex, your biceps harden. Your little grunts and then you curl.”
“I curl?” he asked.
“Yes, you curl, just a little, like this at the end,” and I demonstrated the little crunch he does during climax.
He moaned a little and took over. A slight smacking sound from the head of his cock joined the lilt of my story as his hand moved quickly and expertly over his own body. “Mmm, how could I have forgotten about that sound?” I wondered.
“I want you to cum with me,” he said. Then added, “Please, ma’am.”
I rolled over and retrieved the Hitachi resting on a nest of tangled cords and put the head over my polkadot shorts. I lifted my white see-through t-shirt and lay in the bright light, his eyes locked on mine for a moment before we both shifted to each other’s bodies.
The wand seared through me as I watched the blurry arc of his hand. Words tumbled out of me as quickly as my orgasm tumbled toward its cliff of release. “I love your cock,” I gasped, “It’s so fucking big. Look at you: so beautiful, so sexy.”
His body was doing all the things I’d already described. His legs were rigid slabs of muscle, his chest was taut with exertion, his breath coming fast and in little jerks.
“I can’t believe you put that giant thing in me,” I managed to say and then my orgasm pushed through me like a wave crashing on the beach. It came so swiftly the second I was done I wanted more. He was still beating himself with a steady, sexy rhythm.
“You’re going again, right?” he asked, hopeful.
“Definitely,” I confirmed. “Talking — hearing my own voice say those things — made me cum faster,” I said a little incredulously. “But it’s hard. I’m so shy.” He said he felt the same way when he tried to talk and I felt less silly.
I put the Hitachi back on me and kept talking. Again, it pounded through me in seconds and I arched and moaned and called out. He closed his eyes and moved to his own music, his own needs. His hand moved impossibly fast and his breathing shortened. I pressed my hand gently on his thigh, close to the magic and waited.
And then he curled a little and spurts of his seed came spilling out to rest on the brambles of his hairy abdomen. He giggled a little and relaxed. “See?” I said kissing his shoulder. “You curled!” He giggled again and sighed, wiped the cum off his belly with his bare hand.
I took it and licked some off and smacked my lips, rolled back onto my back and quickly had a third orgasm with the taste of his cum on my lips and his mouth latched onto my breast.
“Let’s talk about our feelings,” he joked. I snuggled down into my nook and kissed his chest. His arm squeezed me to him and he nuzzled me for a kiss on the lips.
“Ok,” I said. “I love you.” He smiled and I got lost in his icy blue eyes, the whiskers he was growing back for me.
“I love you, too,” he replied and I quietly wrapped myself in the evening’s joy as I looked out into the quiet stillness of my brightly lit room, his chest a pillow beneath my smiling cheek.
Outside the wind whipped freezing weather through us all, the trees, our streets, our flimsy coats, but inside I was warm and toasty. A log glowed with its dying embers and my heater spewed warm air into the apartment like a never-ending breath. I sat at the computer, my desktop, searching for apartments or duplexes, anything that would fit me and Peyton when I heard a quick knock at my door and the handle turn.
The Neighbor wasn’t due to come over until 9, after the gym and after dinner. It was only 6.
I looked up and he filled the doorway with his black pea coat and rosy cheeks. “Fuck, it’s cold out there! And I don’t want to go to the gym.” He looked at me meaningfully.
“Are you saying you’d like to do a horizontal workout?” I was half joking, but hopeful.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” he answered with a smile.
I stood up and closed the gap between us and wrapped my arms around his cold exterior while giving him a soft kiss, dropping everything I’d been doing. “You’re so cold!” I exclaimed and then screamed when two ice cold hands wrapped around my breasts. “What the fuck!” and I yelled again laughing.
“You’re so hot!!” he laughed and squeezed his handfuls with gusto.
I stood there patiently while his hands warmed up and he wiggled his eyebrows at me. I stepped back and his hands dropped to the bulge in his jeans. A ridge larger than a banana had appeared where none had been only moments before. I hmmm’d my approval and rubbed it and sat back down at the computer. He walked around to lay by the dying fire and play with the cat.
I wondered at my accessibility, how open and willing I am to drop whatever it is I’m doing to play with him: is that real? Is that sustainable? I pushed the thoughts out of my head and went to kneel beside him.
I kissed his soft lips buried in whiskers and felt his cool hands reach for my breasts again. I lifted my shirt and shifted one into his mouth.
His warm, wet mouth pulled at me and I was reminded of all those months of nursing my baby. The tug, the pull, the stinging surge of milk as it came to a head and spilled out. I wished I could feel that again. I switched breasts and he continued to suckle. Eyes closed, hands stroking the backs of my jean-clad thighs and where they joined. I moaned a little and pulled away.
His bulge was even bigger.
He stood up and I raised up on my knees. “I’m wondering if I should leave without fucking you. I told myself I would,” he said, always the game player.
“Do whatever you want,” I replied looking up at him and undoing his belt. “You probably should leave.” I peeled away his jeans and pulled out the head of his giant cock, stiff and full of itself. He helped maneuver his underpants and his balls while I licked the big head and slowly, yet softly, drove it into my mouth.
His moans encouraged me and I pushed my gag reflex away as I took as much of him as I could, still 2 inches short of all of it. My saliva began a trail down my wrist as I sucked and pulled, completely lost on my knees. He was now stark naked.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he said. “I’ve missed that so much!” I felt a pang of guilt and quickly squashed it. I do what I can.
“Let’s go to your bed,” he said, hand out to me. I took it and got to my feet and quickly followed him into my room. He lit a candle and it danced for us in the winter dusk. His naked body gleamed as he came to me and took my face in his hands.
We kissed and kissed and he whipped my clothes off of me and pressed himself against me. I wanted to say “I love you,” but kept it to myself. He pushed me roughly onto the bed instead and climbed on top, growling.
His cock pushed its way beyond my folds and spread me wide open. I wriggled and grabbed at his flanks to pull him in closer. He kissed my ear and my neck. I wanted to say “I love you,” again, but kept silent.
When he began to move I mewled and thrust and ground back. He slammed into me 1000 times and I rocked back into the mattress like a ragdoll. I came again and again and he split my legs and ground on my clit with his abdomen. I went wild with painful pleasure and wondered if I would cum this way, like scissor sisters.
“I love your cock, I fucking love your cock,” I whispered over and over, though really I wanted to say only “I love you.”
Sweat began to slick between us and I was spurred to buck harder and faster. He. will. never. forget. me. I thought. I am more than everything. The pounding, the beating I took filled my head and my arms like sand and my eyes saw only stars. We were these humping, thumping animals rutting the fuck out of each other. And then we stopped, exhausted. I felt my heart battering against its cage and I put my hand on his and felt the same fluttering. I couldn’t move.
“I really do love your cock,” I said between heavy breaths. “And I love you,” I added bravely. “I love you, too.” We laughed at my silliness, but he didn’t reply. There was only silence.
I felt tears well up inside overwhelmed by his lack of response, by him being so TN, so android-like, like the code for /reciprocate “I love you” got broken.
Slowly he pulled out and lay beside me. “I hate it when you go,” I pouted.
“But I can’t lay next to you if I don’t; I’m too far away.” I closed my eyes and let the tears come. Disappointment and satisfaction nearly equal parts of each.
He stroked my hair a few times then seemed to remember that that’s too intimate and stopped. “You get a good enough workout in?” I asked, forcing my sadness away.
“Indeed I did! Thank you!” He leaned over and kissed me deeply. We lay together for a few more minutes before he got up to leave and I decided to join him for a store-run for dinner. When we got home we said we’d see each other later, but we wouldn’t.
At 9:15 he called to say he’d decided to go to bed while the mood was hot. He was worried I’d feel rejected. I didn’t, but it made me wonder again at my availability and openness. When he’d come over I was in the middle of doing work that was important to me, but I dropped it all instantly, not to mention I would never cancel a cuddle with him just because I was tired. But that’s on me — bad boundaries and everything. I never get full. Ever. I’m a bucket with holes.
At least I get fucked. There’s always that. And I love him. Even if he isn’t entirely comfortable with his love for me. Maybe this move will be for the best.
In the blustering storm that is life, where all the leaves are bills and worries and exes and money and illness and the bright sky and warm sunshine are jubilation and health and bonds and friendship, there is always a center. It’s our soul, our heart, and it can be found in purpose.
My center is Peyton, which equates to love; I am anchored by a precocious, sensitive little person who has a wee lisp and a wild imagination just like the mama in the story, me. And my other center is The Neighbor, a different kind of purpose and love, a grown up, complicated, left-of-center, warm, sloppy, and wanting love. Between the two of them, I am filled to the brim with sunshine even as the leaves twist and flip about me.
On the 21st of December TN and I had our Christmas. One of my gifts was going to be my declaration of love, but I was nervous. We lit a fire and I cooked for us — filet mignon with a wine reduction sauce, fried Brussels sprouts and roasted acorn squash with brown sugar. We drank wine and talked, opened many wonderful, thoughtful, loving gifts (I gave him a shirt I made that said, “Logically Logical,” a throwback to an inside joke).
We held hands as we stumbled into my bedroom and undressed each other in the candlelight. We kissed with soft, wet tongues and beating hearts. He pounded into me and I arched back into him, the words so close on my lips, yet held tight behind a seal.
I came and came and my heart melted then blew into glittering bits. He was business as usual, ignorant and blissfully so. We lay in each other’s arms and I thought to myself, “Now is the time. Now,” but I couldn’t bring myself to be so vulnerable. There was every chance that he would be angry, that he wouldn’t return the words, that we might even break up.
I took a deep breath and splayed my fingers through his chest hair and trailed my fingers down between his legs and squeezed his wet, thick cock. “You know I love more than just this about you, right?” It was all I could do.
He nodded and said he knew. I quietly chastised myself, so weak, so scared. He was leaving in two days to go home for Christmas. This was the moment.
While he was gone shit hit the fan with my ex. I found out via social media once removed that he was getting remarried (“once removed” would mean that a friend texted me about my ex’s relationship status change) and that he was keeping it secret from Peyton for some reason. Between my head exploding in rage and the barrenness I felt due to our physical distance, I felt more than ever the urge to tell him how I felt. It wasn’t because of the news, but in spite of it.
Life is short and I love him. He has the right to know.
His flight arrived late the day after Christmas, about the same time Peyton and I pulled up in front of our apartment from a quick out-of-town trip to see friends. “The eagle has landed!” he texted.
I tucked in my baby and rehearsed what I’d say to TN. My plan was to just blurt it out the second I saw him. “Hi, TN! I love you!” and just see what happened. But when the time came, I was seized with nerves again. We hugged and playfully sobbed into each other’s arms over our stressful family holidays.
I took a deep breath, “I have to talk to you. I have good news and I have bad news.” He looked alarmed as I led him to my room and sat down on the bed. “Which do you want to hear?”
“The bad news first.” I sighed with relief.
“The bad news is, Exhusband and Kathy got engaged Christmas Eve, I found out via Facebook, and he still hasn’t told me about it.” TN knows that whenever my ex does stupid shit, it can affect my moods and my feelings about our relationship, in particular. “And the good news has no connection to this bad news whatsoever.”
“Ok..” he said speculatively.
“You know how I feel about you, right?” he slumped down and covered his face with a sheet. I felt every element of oxygen enter and leave my lungs. “I love you.”
He dropped the sheet and looked at me. “And I always feel it more when you’re away and we’re apart and my friends are asking about you. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you and you never heard the words from me.”
He looked at me for long moments, blinking. He thanked me.
I didn’t fall apart because it was what I expected, but when he asked for me to lay down with him, I refused. “No, thank you. I don’t feel like it right now.” I sat against his thighs, my arm straddling him, but the last thing I wanted to do was lay down with a man who didn’t return my love.
We talked about I don’t know what for a long while until finally, for some reason, he suddenly said, “Of course I love you, too.”
I sucked in my breath and looked at him intently. “Really??”
“What?!” I said incredulously. All those stupid, wasted weeks of torture and tears could have been avoided. “Then why did you date her?!”
“I don’t know,” he said simply. I let the silence hang between us and my heart softened towards the man who couldn’t help himself but love me. I quietly laid down into his nook.
“So I tell you I love you and now you want to be close?” he asked, not without sarcasm.
“Yes, pretty much. I didn’t feel close to you before. Now I do. It’s simple.” He squeezed me and I sighed into him. “I really do love you. I’m sorry.” He cringed and my heart broke for him a little knowing that this complicated things in a way he’d been athletically avoiding for at least 18 months. “At least you’ll have a lot to talk about with your therapist: ‘Theresa! It’s terrible! Hyacinth admitted she loved me and I told her I loved her, too!'”
He chuckled at my dry humor and said it was true. I felt simultaneously angry, relieved, and blessed. And royally fucked.
When he left that night I said the words I’d wanted to say so many times before as he headed for my bedroom door, “Goodnight, I love you, TN.” He paused and turned with a twinkle in his eye and through a tight smile said, “I love you, too, Hy.” And then he was gone from my doorway, still my center, but also still somehow a new leaf.
My body opened for him, my heart pumped for him, my legs spread for him.
It had been days since we were able to connect; weekly demands, family in town, and work schedules conspired against us. I felt an angsty itch I couldn’t swat away, but we had promised each other that last night would be the end of the itching.
“I need you deep inside of me,” I texted. “It will make my world right.”
He popped over later in the evening and lit a fire for Peyton and me. They chatted for a minute and then he and I talked on the balcony while Pey watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
My heart was heavy and has been re-broken as I navigate a new stage of my relationship with my ex and my ex-family. He was kind, offered words of encouragement. “Fuck them, Hy. Repeat after me, ‘Fuck them!'”
I said the words and joked that at least I had his cock to make me feel better. He agreed as I leaned across the chilly night and grabbed his warm, soft bulge.
“You ok?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I answered eyeing his lips. I brushed them with my own and his soft beard tickled my skin. “I am now.”
“Good.” He stood up. “Text me later, ok? I’m off to get dinner.”
I thanked him again and finished my warm, cozy night with my gangly limbed little one and the second I knew that sleep had descended on my house I texted a simple, “OK!”
I changed out of my jeans into maroon scrubs and removed my bra. My heavy breasts sagged against my white cotton shirt and I sighed. I went and laid down on my couch to wait, excited and even a little nervous.
I heard heavy footsteps, a door open, a door shut and then my door open. He was here.
I looked at him as he walked into my apartment wearing only black basketball shorts. “Come on,” he said with his hand out. “Let’s go.” His face was serious, his bulge obvious.
I giggled and sat upright, grabbed his hand and skipped a little as he led me to my room. He shut the door and locked it lest Peyton wake up and need Mommy for something.
I handed him a lighter and gestured toward the candle on my nightstand as I turned off the lights.
I heard the lighter and the room filled with a warm glow. He turned to me and took my face in his hands and kissed me. His cologne filled my nostrils and I inhaled the sweet, manly scent. I pressed my body against his bare chest and pulled back and in one motion removed my shirt then my pants.
I stood before him in purple knee-high socks and black lace panties. I arched my back a little as I noticed him glance at my breasts and abdomen. He grabbed me again and pulled me in for a deeper, longer kiss.
I tugged at his shorts and shoved them off the rest of the way with my stockinged foot. He giggled at my antics, kissed me again then shoved me down on the bed and ripped off my panties.
I could feel my wetness and grew more excited to see his reaction. He pushed my legs apart and positioned himself between them, his cock found my hole and his eyes grew wide when he felt his cock slide in with such ease.
“Jesus Christ, Hy,” he moaned into my ear.
He began to rock into me and I clung to him. He kissed my ear, my neck, my lips. I grew greedy and mewled at him, kissing him back like it was my last opportunity for touch.
I grabbed at his flanks and ground down on him as his arms wrapped around me to hold me to him. He pounded my fucking pussy like it was his last opportunity for touch.
I gushed and I came in so many bursts that left me breathless, my breasts crushed against the fur of chest grew hot from our friction. His mouth was all over me, such a rare treat, I felt like a chocolate beneath his mouth and tongue.
He pushed himself up on his knees and bent my legs, my dark purple socks looked like boots. My pussy was so slick I could barely feel him and I worried aloud about it. He assured me that wasn’t the case for him.
I began to pant how much I loved his fucking cock over and over, a broken, lusty record. I clenched, I prayed, I hoped to God he could actually feel me and then I heard a hitch in his voice and his pants began to come in earnest.
The tops of his thighs slammed into the soft undersides of mine as his body jerked and he came deep inside of me. He paused for a minute and I wanted to cry with relief. I felt like a rag doll. But it lasted only a moment before he started to move again.
“No, wait,” I begged. “Please, stop, please. Let’s just rest!” He laughed at me and asked if I was sure. “I said, yes, please. I know you’re a sex machine and you can go forever, but please, go easy on me. I really just want to lay with you. I’ve cum 14 times already, I swear!”
He laughed again and flopped down next to me and I curled up into his nook. I lay there thinking how weird it is that I have to tell the man-who-never-cums-in-me to stop fucking me after he finally does. He’s a special one, that’s for sure.
We lay in each other’s arms and I felt the ooze between my legs and smiled. I couldn’t wait to wake up the next morning and feel its continuous drip, proof that he was there.
I stroked his shoulders and his temples, anywhere I could lay my hands on him and he melted into me before announcing his departure.
I realized that it has been a solid year since I’ve been monogamous with him. It feels weird, scary and also very right. A year’s worth of one man’s semen in and on me, one man’s cock, one man’s eyes. It feels possessive and free all at once. It feels truly lovely.
I walked him to the door, gave him a good, hard smack on his ass and kissed him goodnight. My love, my neighbor, my TN walked next door through a cold 5 feet and disappeared for one more night.
My emotions aren’t unstable, but they do run the gamut. One week, I feel solid, another I am shaky. I rehearse speeches to no one and I ferret out my feelings about my non-relationship relationship with single-minded determination. I want to make sure I am doing what I want to do for good and noble reasons, not out of desperation or habit.
The Neighbor lights me up. And despite the trauma of our early days I love him more now than ever. I fight to keep the darkness away, the fear of a life without him, but it’s an easier fight all the time. When this is done, I will be ok. I know it. And part of how I know that is because of what I feel today with him. I cannot regret one thing we’ve done because it has always been magic.
A few days ago, something happened that was new.
He kissed me softly and his new beard pricked my nose and lips like a little nibbling hedgehog. I moaned and opened my mouth against his and breathed in the perfume of cologne and soap and love.
A candle flung fleeting light against the walls and ceiling and he moved to cover me with his naked, pale body. His knee pushed my knees apart and he settled his weight above me and positioned his giant cock at my opening. Our mouths remained connected with soft laps and locked lips.
He pushed at me and I lifted my knees higher and wider and hooked my ankles together behind his buttocks. He pushed harder and I gave way. The universe shifted as we joined and pressed our bodies as close together as humanly possible.
“Don’t move,” I whispered against his mouth. “Stay.” And I pulled him in deeper until I felt him poke my heart.
I wriggled a little and twisted my hips until I screwed down tighter onto him. He growled into my ear and curled his hips into me slowly. We began to move like this, the slow motion dance of timeless lovers, on endless waves of lust and passion.
Again and again and again he curved his curved cock into my cunt. I clung to him with all my limbs and kissed his neck as he kissed mine, a connected yin and yang.
I whimpered as my heart began to feel tender and my pussy began to bloom. His tempo increased and I heard a squelch from where our bodies met and then another. He went faster and faster, the curl now a thrust, the dance now a beat.
He pressed up on his arms and I grabbed his hips to pull him in faster, harder. He hitched my ankles up to his shoulders and sat up, watching my face twist in ecstasy as I came and came in little bursts.
He didn’t cum this time, but he was smiling when he finally stopped and I fell loose into a the puddle below us. He opened his arms to me and I rolled heavily into them, catching my breath.
“Wow, that was really good,” he said, stroking my arm
“It really was,” I answered. “It was like you were curling into me.”
“Yeah, it really was. It felt amazing. You felt amazing.”
Then we chuckled at our self congratulations and fell silent. Later, with me on an elbow facing him and him on his we talked about our day, our week, everything, nothing, our navels. My hair was still in long, wet ropes from my shower and with one hand I pinned it as I talked.
He looked at me softly, strangely then. “You look really pretty right now,” he said shyly.
“Aw, thank you,” I said and leaned forward to kiss him, but he ducked away and latched onto my bare breast instead. “No,” I said pulling him up. “Kiss me here,” and I tapped my mouth with a finger tip. He gingerly touched his mouth to mine until I pressed in for more and as we kissed I said between them, “That is the sweetest thing you’ve said and thank you so very much. I’m so glad to know you.”
When our lips fell apart he ducked his head again, but this time into the pillows. “Aw, what’s the matter?” I asked, rubbing his shoulder.
“I had no idea that was all I had to do to make you feel that good,” was his muffled reply. “And now I might be feeling bashful.”
“Yep, fuck me hard and tell me I’m pretty! I’m easy like that,” I laughed, my heart smiling from its melted place.
He looked up at me and I read in his eyes a desire to reach out to me, to touch my face, but he held still and didn’t move. Then the look passed and we were both back in bed smiling at each other, but the moment had been there. It’d been there. He had surprised himself with his sentiment and I was lucky enough to witness it.
He may be too scared to admit it, but I know he’s curled up around my heart as much as I am around his. We are a tangled, dirty, mess of love and fear. Take us or leave us. I choose to take us.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the man wrapped in only a white towel glaring at me in my entryway. Apparently, Downstairs Neighbor, upon being rushed out of my apartment because I was about to get the shit fucked out of me, had hidden behind the corner and when The Neighbor had single-mindedly tried to span the 5 feet between our doors he’d leaped out and scared the shit out of him. A cat might also have run outside in all the commotion of TN’s glares and DN’s booming laughter.
“Oh, TN!” I laughed putting my hand on his stubbly cheek, the door tightly shut and locked behind us. “Don’t be mad!! He had no idea you’d be naked!!” He leveled a gaze at me that made me giggle some more as if I’d conspired with DN to humiliate him!
I laughed some more, just simply couldn’t help it, frankly.
I kissed his cheek and hugged his stiff body and to prove his “anger” he let the towel drop and his erection bobbed heavily between us. I grabbed it and whispered against his mouth, “I swear, DN had no idea you’d be in a towel! It was just a joke!”
He melted against me with a grin and took my hand, led me back to my candlelit room. “Ok,” he finally said still smiling and pulled me closer.
He bent his hand and slanted his mouth across mine, long, soft and sweet surrounded by sandpaper whiskers. I moaned a little as he removed my cardigan.
“You look so hot in this dress,” he said taking a breath. I swelled with pride. My yellow dress, theyellow dress. It always does me right.
He dipped his head back down to the top of my cleavage and I closed my eyes as his scruff left red blooms on my skin.
He returned to my lips and I breathed him in, lost in my love. Our fingers explored the dips and swells of our figures, my face nibbling on his.
He pushed the little straps off my shoulders and the top of my dress pooled around my waist. My breasts filled his hands and mouth and we laughed when I needed help pulling the dress back up and over my double Ds.
He grabbed my white cotton panties and tore them off. “Leave the boots on,” he said lustily and shoved me down on the bed.
I sighed as he entered me and pulled my bottom to the edge of the bed. My knee-high brown leather riding boots framed his face and he turned into one calf and kissed it. I could hear him smell the leather.
His cock was enormous and I was wet as fuck. He leaned down and kissed me and I stared boldly up at him then shut my eyes as he slowly stroked my body with his.
I thought of the strict orders he’d received from his physical therapist to not do any vigorous fucking for a while and groaned. “Don’t hurt yourself, TN,” I warned as I felt his tempo increase. “If you do, you’ll be in big trouble.” I panted the words in time with his thrusts. He only smiled mischievously at me and kept at it.
I tossed my head from side to side as it all began to feel more like torture. An exquisite, stupidly hot and wet, torture.
He seemed to sense my agony and lifted me up fully onto the bed and positioned himself between my legs. For a quick 30 seconds he pumped like horny stray dog into me and I came just as rapidly; little bursts strung together by moans, grabbed skin, and warm breath on my neck.
He stopped then, panting. “Damn you,” I admonished. “I’m all vibe-y. Are you ok?” I shook my hands like little helicopters.
“Yes, I’m ok,” he said. “And that reminds me…” he leaned over, still inside of me, and grabbed my Hitachi. “Here you go.” He flicked it on and lay beside me with my legs over his hips.
It took forever and a day for me to spill over, but with the struggle came the reward: his words, his mouth; he stroked my temple and told me what a good girl I was. And then we cuddled and loved and talked and I dozed stupidly for minutes on end.
Then he kissed me again and squeezed me, tucked me in, loved on Faisal who’s claimed him for his own, and left quietly.
The next morning I awoke naked and in a sunbeam, my body sore in all the right places. My boots lay in a heap on the floor next to my white panties, the vibrator lay like a bone a couple of feet away and my pretty yellow dress hung draped over the foot of my bed.
My wonderful, lucky, get-laid-every-time yellow dress. Thank you, Old Navy.